


I Thought You Said Romance was Dead

by Jenny_Starseed



Series: Couples Stuff or How Deborah and Martin Negotiate the Beginnings of a relationship [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, First Date, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh how very typical of Deborah.  She promised Martin a low-key coffee date.  Martin should have known better than to take her word for it.  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>A sequel to Promises, Sex and Relationships.  Not necessary to read the first fic to understand this one.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Thought You Said Romance was Dead

Oh how very typical of Deborah. She promised Martin a low-key coffee date. Martin should have known better than to take her word for it. He assumed it would be at a little cheap cafe near the airport, not a fancy little restaurant where the coffee alone was the price of Martin’s sandwich this morning. He distinctly felt out of place in this very fancy Viennese Cafe. The marble tables and the deep dark wooden furnishes with filigree, it was the sort of place you imagined famous writers would drink and write famous novels in. He was suddenly very glad that she didn’t offer to take him to dinner. 

“I thought you said romance was dead.”

Deborah pretended she didn’t hear him as she ordered his Viennese coffee in her accented German. She looked lovely, almost like she was right out of a posh European film. She wore a blue elegant wrap dress with simple black heels, her hair in a French twist and hell, did she even do her nails? It took a lot of Martin’s self control not to ogle her. It was the first time he had ever seen her dress up and be lady-like. As a pilot, Deborah never put up with such an effort. She usually preferred to be one of the boys, comfortably authoritative in her uniform with her hair tied loosely in a ponytail or left loose, down to her shoulders. Martin suddenly felt very much out of his depth again. Whatever Deborah was planning, he was sure she was going to successfully manipulate him into something. And why did she have to have such nice legs? And nice...well, everything else. 

“Martin?”

And why did she have to smell like floral lemons today? She knew how much he liked that lemon scented hand-soap at the Fitton airfield. He told her that once when they were bored out of their minds waiting for a client. How does she remember these things?

“Martin?”

Caitlin always said he was so helpless with women. As soon as they put on a nice dress with some nice shoes, he was hopeless. If he had it his way, Deborah would be dressed in a potato sack so that he wouldn’t be so bloody distracted by her...damn wrap dress...oh god, now he can’t look away. 

“Martin!”

“Yes?” 

“Eyes are here,” Deborah said sharply. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” he said abruptly. He felt his face colour and felt infinitely thankful when an elegant cup of coffee appeared in front of him. 

Deborah smiled knowingly as she took a bite out of her fancy pastry. “You like what you see?”

Suddenly that smug voice reminded Martin exactly who he was having coffee with. He knew that this was all orchestrated to make him feel like a fool. He knew she did this on purpose. It was always so much easier to manipulate him when he was distracted. So this is what it’s like to be on the other end of the Richardson charm offensive. She seemed to have written the book on how to be manipulatively alluring.

“You said casual coffee date!” hissed Martin. “Thirty minutes you said! Look at the people around you; it looks like they’ve been here for ages! It looks like they all got dressed up just to have coffee. This is anything but casual.”

“Martin, this is casual,” she said plaintively. 

“Casual for posh and cultured Europeans,” continued Martin. “It’s exactly the sort of place that ordinary people would never have coffee in on a daily basis. It’s so...”

“Elegant? Cultured? Posh?” suggested Deborah. 

“Yes, all of those,” said Martin. 

“I thought you would enjoy it, it is very low-key. No one really gives a damn what you do, as long as you pay, tip and don’t steal their coffee cups, it’s the most low-key date you can have,” explained Deborah. “It’s a nice change from the piss-pot coffee we usually get at airport terminals. We have a bit of time. Those fancy German businessmen won’t need us for another few hours. Just sit back, enjoy the scenery and your coffee. We have two hours and the waiters really won’t kick you out for loitering. That’s the beauty of Viennese cafes, you can elegantly loiter for hours on end for the price of five Euros.”

“You said half an hour!” hissed Martin. “Not two hours.”

Deborah picked at her large apple strudel and sipped her espresso. “Why are you so bothered? We can leave after thirty minutes, no one has a stopwatch telling us when to leave or go. I really wish you wouldn’t be so uptight about this. Is it really so bad to sit for a long time in a comfy and beautiful cafe with a pretty girl you fancy?”

“It just isn’t what I expected,” Martin said quietly. “You know how I feel in posh places. It’s really not a fair start to...whatever we’re starting.”

“Believe it or not Martin, I don’t have an elaborate plan for everything,” said Deborah. “It’s as casual as you want it to be. If it makes you feel any better, there’s a tacky tourist in the corner over there, with a hip pack and Birkenstock sandals with socks on.”

Martin glanced at the tourist. Sure enough, he had a big frothy iced coffee drink in front of him, leafing through a well-thumbed map and rudimentary German phrase book by his elbow. There were actually quite a few tourists who looked like him scattered around the posh cafe. He suddenly felt foolish for worrying, he actually didn’t look too out of place in his blue button-down shirt and faded trousers. He relaxed a bit. He needed to stop feeling like he was having a date with Audrey Hepburn. He was having coffee with his mad first officer who relished in cheating him out of his camembert on a daily basis. Or winning it out of him, as she would put it. 

“That’s the prissy Martin I was waiting for!” remarked Deborah. “No worries now, Martin. The next fifteen minutes will fly by and I’ll let you escape with your pride intact. Away from the big scary girl with an even scarier piece of apple strudel.”

“Oh please,” said Martin with irritation. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Drink your coffee, I asked for extra cream just to show how much I like you,” she said smoothly. 

Martin did and it was delightful. It improved his mood somewhat. God knows it will be a long time before he could indulge again. 

“So, what do you want to talk about?” asked Martin. 

“What do you usually talk about when you’re on a date?”

“I usually have cue-cards memorized of particular topics of interest, it’s either that or flying,” said Martin. “I didn’t have time to research any. And I’d figure they wouldn’t work on you since we’re colleagues.” 

Deborah looked at him disbelievingly. “Are you serious?”

“My mother said to always be prepared on a date,” said Martin. “This is how I prepare.”

“Surely you don’t need cue cards for small talk, any idiot can do small talk.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Martin miserably. “I’m not very good with women. You saw how I was like with that pretty brunette from Australia last week. I couldn’t string together two words together without embarrassing myself.”

“Gosh, I can only wonder what your past girlfriends were like,” said Deborah with faux wide-eyed innocence. 

“Oh, thank you,” Martin said sarcastically. 

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” said Deborah apologetically. “But I really am curious, what were they like? God knows you know bits of my disastrous dating history. How is yours?”

“It’s not really much to talk about,” said Martin skittishly. “I was always too poor to take a girl out on a proper date. Most of the time, I had to go halves when we were out at a moderately nice restaurant. And I rarely had any time in between my studying and my rubbish jobs to give a girl much attention once we started dating. And they were always so annoyed at me, I could never understand why. I figured it was because they were angry at me for not giving them much of my time, but I never know. They never tell me.”

“You won’t have that problem if I was your girlfriend. I have no qualms about telling you exactly where you go wrong in our relationship.”

“That’s very charming, Deborah.”

“I’m serious. If we dated, there would be no problems with your hectic schedule,” argued Deborah. “We already spend an inordinate amount of time with each other.”

“You’re making this sound like a job interview to date me. It will take more than rational arguments to convince me that this would work.”

“Says the man who brings cue cards to a date,” replied Deborah.

“I do not bring cue cards to a date!” Martin responded hotly. “I have them memorized. There’s a difference.”

“Contrary to what those wild-life programs tell you on BBC Three, dating is not an intricate mating ritual. You need a bit of spontaneity and chemistry to make it work,” reasoned Deborah smugly. “No one falls in love by a rule book.”

“Do we have chemistry?” Martin asked curiously. “Because all we are doing is arguing. That’s all we ever do.”

“I’m always arguing with my loved ones,” Deborah explained simply. “The exception is that I actually enjoy arguing with you. I’ve always enjoyed our tête-à-têtes.”

“Because you always win,” replied Martin sullenly. 

 

“Not always, I’m not winning you over now,” said Deborah in a small voice. “I have a distinct feeling I’m losing now. Why on earth is it so hard to trust me? I just like being very clever. Surely that’s not a crime.”

“No, but I wish you wouldn’t manipulate me.”

“Do you feel manipulated?” asked Deborah with a distinct edge to her voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” 

Deborah tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Then what do you mean?” 

Deborah stopped teasing and flirting, which meant Martin had to think carefully before he said something unintentionally hurtful and left footed to her. 

“It’s just...I wanted to start our potential whatever this is on a more comfortable footing. I never go anywhere this posh with all these tourists who actually have money to spend. And you’re dressed nicely and it makes me uncomfortable.”

Deborah frowned quizzically. “Uncomfortable?”

“Yes. I’m so used to you wearing your uniform with just a smidge of lip colour. And your raggedy sleep clothes with blue bunnies. It’s very jarring to see you look so....” Martin trailed off with a wave of his hand towards her, trying to find the words to describe something.

Deborah's eyes flashed dangerously. “So what?”

“Lovely.”

“Oh.”

Martin blushed uncomfortably. He fiddled with his spoon and the sugar before nervously stirring his coffee. Deborah was a bit at a loss as to what to do now. She had made him feel uncomfortable when all she wanted to do was impress him. It was what she did best. She was a natural show off. And if she was pressed, she’ll admit that she liked making Martin a little uncomfortable. It made him attractive to her. Besides, the poor man never went anywhere nice whenever they were in such beautiful cities such as Vienna. They rarely had the chance and she thought it would be a nice surprise to take him to one of the most famous Viennese cafes in Austria. She had been here on her honeymoon with her last husband, Henry. His hands were not as sweaty then. Martin likely had very sweaty hands for different reasons than Henry. It was why she liked Martin, he was a decent man. She wanted to hold them now. 

She reached across the table to still Martin’s nervous stirring. She warmly smiled. “You’ll ruin the coffee that way.”

She gently pried Martin’s fingers away from the spoon and gently took his hand in hers. “See? We’re doing the holding hands thing you wanted to do. Couples stuff. It’s not really so hard. We can do this.”

His hand was callused from his van job, but they were warm and comforting. They weren’t sweaty at all. She ran her thumb over his, fascinated by the feel of it. It was the most intimate touch they ever had. Well, not quite. That was before Martin clumsily leaned over and gave Deborah a clumsy, enthusiastic but short kiss on the mouth, while knocking over his expensive coffee over the table. 

Martin’s hand left hers while he hastily took a very small napkin to wipe up the spill. Deborah called the waiter to help with the clean up and asked for the bill. With polite no-nonsense efficiency, a smartly dressed waiter came in with a large towel to clean up the mess. Martin sat down with his head in his hands, properly mortified by his bold action and his clumsiness. 

His head shot up with apologetic alarm. “Oh god, I didn’t get any coffee on you, did I?” 

“No, but you have some on your shirt cuff.”

“Oh damn, this was my nicest shirt,” groaned Martin. 

“Ah! So you admit you dressed up too!” said Deborah smugly. “Now who’s manipulating whom? You’ve even done something to your hair to make a tiny smidgy bit straighter.”

“That is hardly manipulation!” Martin protested. “I fancy you. It’s only natural that I want to look nice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I am sure!” shot Martin. “Just because you’ve never seen me dress nicely doesn’t mean I’m being sneaky when I do. That’s just silly.”

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Deborah said smoothly. 

“Agree?” Martin asked with confusion before his eyes lit with comprehension. “Oh! Yes, I see what you mean. Right. I guess that was wrong of me then.”

“Martin, I do believe our half hour date is up,” Deborah said lightly. “And I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?”

“A half hour coffee date that you wouldn’t regret.”

“And you’re so very sure that I don’t regret this?”

Deborah quickly paid the bill and got up. “Martin, you just admitted that you fancied me and you even kissed me. I’d say it was a success, wouldn’t you think?”

As soon as Martin got up, she linked her harm in his, leaning against him in the way most girlfriends do as they walked out of the cafe. Martin was predictably awkward against her, but he didn’t make a move to shrug her off. It was so predictably presumptuous of her to claim him like that, not that he could help it. She felt very nice against him.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel. I’m sure you want to get that stained shirt off.”

“Deborah!”

“I won’t molest you if that’s what you’re thinking. We didn’t talk about sex once and I’ve been good about keeping my hands off of you. Though I can’t say the same for you.”

“You did not!” protested Martin. “You did that thing with my hand. And you’re clutching me.”

“And you stole a kiss and spilled your coffee,” returned Deborah. “And I don’t see you shrugging me off. You really can’t win this one. Admit it, I’ve convinced you.”

Martin sighed. “Fine, you’ve convinced me.”

Deborah smiled. “Good. When can we have sex?” 

Martin groaned.

Deborah smiled smugly. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. I promise, we’ll take it slow, you’ll like it. I haven’t been wrong yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write sequels, but I just had to follow Deborah and Martin to their date. 
> 
> Unbeta-ed and unbrit-picked. All the characters belong to John Finnemore.


End file.
